


Chosen Soulmates

by KingHarryI



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, M/M, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Avengers, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingHarryI/pseuds/KingHarryI
Summary: On everyone's fourteenth birthday, they receive their soul mark(s). If your birthday is before your soulmate's, than you will wait and receive it at the same time as your next closest soulmate's fourteenth birthday. This comes in handy, as most people receive their soulmates in pairs. For Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, their soulmate relationship was the closest in the world, and not even HYDRA could change it. However, as Harriet Potter turns fourteen, the magical world collides with the Avengers in a test of existing relationships as they face the growing threat of Lord Voldemort.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve Grant Rogers and James Buchannan Barnes were, for better or for worse, some of the closest soulmates the world had ever seen.

Since the dawn of humanity, soulmates had been a fact of life for everyday people. Created by God as an act of Mercy following the Fall of Man, some said, and others theorized soulmates as an evolutionary advantage within the species to further prolong life and ensure reproductive success with the most viable mate. These are just some of the many theories that littered the world about soulmates. Either way, people always react differently upon receiving their soulmate mark. This mark was inscribed upon the body at the fourteenth birthday, and it detailed the name of the person’s soulmate. Some fell in love immediately with their soulmate before even meeting their other half, and upon first meeting, their hopes and dreams fell by the wayside.

Soulmates are the people promised destined by Fate to be your other half. Your soulmate completes you in mind, body, and spirit. It is utterly devastating to a person when their soulmate deems them unworthy of their love and rejects them. This devastation can lead to many soulmates dying within days of the rejection due to suicide or their body refusing to accept the rejection passing out, eventually having their body’s vital organs shutting down one by one while maintaining the perfect soulmate dream within the mind of the person. These dangers have traveled across cultures, spread by word of mouth through various languages, until it became common knowledge that you never, _ever_ , reject your soulmate. This is the universal taboo of Earth.

However, even if a soulmate pair did not want to perform the taboo, did not mean soulmates were forever by each other. As technology grew, and civilization expanded, some soulmates were oceans apart from one another and did not speak again until years later. This did not deteriorate their soulmate bond at all. Proven time and time again, soulmates were Fate’s chosen pairings, but that did not necessitate being paired together by the hip for the rest of their life.

This idea of separation of soulmates did not seem to matter to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, as from the moment Bucky and Steve received their soul marks with _Steve Grant Rogers_ etched in red, white, and blue pen on his shoulder (“Goddamnit Steve, why do you have to be so damn patriotic? Seriously, you were born on July 4 th, _we get it already_ you don’t need to remind people! For the rest of my life, I’m going to have this monstrosity of a patriotic message carved onto my skin!”) in the cursive calligraphy of Steve’s handwriting, taught to him by his Celtic mother on her deathbed in the hospital, and _James Buchannan Barnes_ in dark grey and crimson block letters stamped on Steve’s shoulder.

Their relationship was never romantic. It had been determined by both that although the best of friends, their sexual and romantic interests lay between the long legs and shapely figure of a woman, not a man. Although, this was not without trying. One time, in the middle of the War somewhere in France, liberating a terrified town from Nazi tyranny and searching for HYDRA enemies, Steve had grabbed Bucky by the shoulders, his super soldier strength in full use, and locked his lips onto Buckys during his panic. Bucky had been missing for hours on the battlefield, helping some farmers pack their few possessions onto overflowing wagons in preparation for the evacuation of the town, and Steve had been beside himself in worry. The kiss was reciprocated by Bucky, their lips locked in a perfect union for a few seconds, before pulling apart. Both admitted it was mainly aftershock and had felt no sexual excitement from the kiss, only a strengthening of their soulmate bond.

When Steve and Bucky were permanently separated in the war, when Steve believed that Bucky had died in that chasm fall, their soulmate bond did not die. Steve believed it was an aftereffect of the super soldier serum, but it did not lessen the crippling pain Steve felt due to the loss of his best friend and soulmate. Through the rest of the war, through his dip in the Atlantic and time spent frozen, all the way through the Battle of New York and the Chitauri invasion, Steve had carried the pain on his heart. It damaged his ability to make new relationships with the Avengers and led Steve to become aloof and estranged in this new century. Already an outsider because of the serum, Steve Rogers was truly alone in the 21st century until Bucky Barnes entered his life again.

Granted, their first meeting was not exactly picturesque. Bucky had been programmed by HYDRA to assassinate Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. In the road nearby Steve’s apartment, after another assassination attempt of Fury, Steve locked eyes with his soulmate again. Warmth flooded through his body, true warmth that made the toes wriggle in comfort and made Steve think of the summer days before the war and before HYDRA, and Steve staggered back in shock. Bucky felt the same warmth and visibly cringed backward. It was incomprehensible in his mind that his soulmate survived. HYDRA programmed his soulmate was dead (he could not remember his soulmate’s name, only felt warmth and goodness and _redwhiteblue_ ).

These melancholy thoughts preoccupied Steve currently as he undressed in his bathroom at Stark—Avenger’s—Tower. He had just completed a mission for the United States Army, not undercover as a SHIELD agent but as Captain Steve Rogers, Stalwart Defender of American values. He had led a battalion of American soldiers to capture a key town in Iraq where ISIS had been in control for the past year and a half. The buildings had been razed to the ground, rubble lying where families had previously spent years living, not a single soul in sight. The town had been used as a headquarters for the terrorist organization; women had been rounded up and married off to ISIS members, the children were used as pawns for the group, and the men had been murdered during the taking of the town. However, a single girl had turned fourteen during the subjugation, and her soul mark had appeared. During a raid by American soldiers, she had bumped into her soulmate by accident and ever since had been spying on the inside of ISIS-held land and relaying information back to the Americans. On her information, the government had contacted Steve and requested he return to duty to help free the town. Steve had acquiesced and had just returned from Iraq.

Steve could still feel sand on his skin as he stepped into the luxurious shower Tony had set up for him. Three different jets of water sprayed him on all sides, water running down his back until carrying the dirty particles down the drain. Steve took his time in the shower as the warm water relaxing his muscles. In the background, Jarvis was playing music from the 1960’s. Slowly but surely, Steve was catching up with modern music. He had just finished his Beatles phase and was now transitioning to other music from this “British invasion” he had been hearing about.   

He left the bathroom as the opening riff to “House of the Rising Sun” drifted through the air, the air humid from the length of Steve’s shower. A towel was wrapped snugly around Steve’s hips, a second towel in his hand as he wrung through his hair and rang out his ears from the water. Even now, as years have passed since the super soldier serum, Steve was often surprised by the transitions his body had undergone by the procedure. Before, his stature was slight, skinny, and scrawny, with nothing but a strong heart and moral code. Now, muscles rippled down his body like boulders on a mountain. His height increase minimized the sheer amount of muscles, expanding them across his frame so that it fitted a lithe, muscular form.

Steve walked across the floor, the cold hardwood floor creating goosebumps up and down his legs. His apartment in Avengers Tower covered an entire floor, consisting of a living room with an open kitchen, as well as two bedrooms and a large bathroom. Steve rarely spent his time in it, as he was out exploring the new century and spending time in the boxing gym on another floor. Pepper Potts, Tony’s soulmate and CEO of Stark Industries, often had to order his groceries and have his fridge stocked for him, as Steve often forgot about such necessities.

It was that Steve entered his kitchen, filled with granite countertops and sleek, new century appliances. Steve had taken one look at it and stated “Goodness, my mother would’ve loved this place,” the first time he had seen it, when the Avengers were in incubation after the Battle of New York and Steve had still been uneasy at living in the Tower.

Within the kitchen, as Steve was perusing the large refrigerator, a familiar voice echoed across the room, “Stevie.”

Steve whirled around in surprise, his eyebrows rising as his eyes widened in shock. “Buck!”

Bucky Barnes was sitting compactly in one of the chairs surrounding Steve’s kitchen table, his shoulders hunched over and his body rigid in behavior. His seat was in the corner of the room, invisible to those who first enter, and had the perfect vantage point. No matter the amount of time Bucky spent away from HYDRA conditioning, remnants of his training were ingrained within in subconscious and were visibly shown. It was like how Natasha acted, Steve had noticed. Maybe the conditioning of HYDRA and the Red Room were similar not only in results but aftereffects as well.

Bucky shifted slightly, his legs moving forward until his elbows rested on his knees. His long, dark hair fell in a curtain around his head, and his crystal-clear eyes locked onto Steve with an intensity.

“Steve, we have a problem.”

Steve shifted his body sideways, reaching into the refrigerator for the new carton of orange juice Pepper had specially ordered for him, as him and Bucky were the only Avengers who liked the sweet liquid. “You said that same thing the time my mom caught us comparing our marks the day I turned fourteen. What kind of problem are we dealing with here?”

Bucky automatically accepted the cup of orange juice thrust into his hand, the shape and feel of the glass still odd between the cybernetic neurons laced individually together on the pads of his metallic hand. After the Avengers’ trip to Wakanda, Princess Shuri had developed Bucky a new arm developed entirely from vibranium. Doctor Strange had interwoven the meteorite material with magic so that Bucky could move the appendage with the same stealth and flexibility, and with both geniuses working together they had been able to develop metallic neurons that sent the same messages along pathways until reaching his spinal cord, which was converted then into normal bodily sensations. The result was a fully functioning, flexible, and low-maintenance arm that Bucky was currently utilizing to take a much-deserved sip of orange juice.

The citric acid settled heavily in Bucky’s stomach, rumbling and raging like the thoughts storming around his head. Finally, he bit the bullet. “Steve, have you looked in the mirror since we got back from Iraq?”

Confused, Steve exclaimed “Wha—What are you talking about Bucky? What does me looking in a mirror have to do with this?”

Bucky sighed and set the glass on the kitchen table. “I’ll assume you haven’t then.”

“No, I haven’t actually—What are you doing Bucky?” Bucky had stood up and taken hold of Steve’s shoulder. Normally, Steve would have flipped any other person through the table upon unwanted contact. It was natural instinct as well as a severe adverse reaction to touch leftover from his days sick and infirm. The only people who were able to touch him for long without fear of breaking him were his mother and Bucky. As Steve spent more time in this new century, he has come to learn that physical contact with other human beings have become normalized within everyday society; a hug was commonplace upon meeting friends and family, and handshakes had become normalized upon strangers interacting. Now, the circle of comfort had begun to include the other Avengers, but Bucky would forever be included within it, even through the Winter Soldier mess.

In the background of Steve’s apartment, the rock tune of the Animals had transitioned into the soft crooning of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” Bucky had dragged Steve into his bedroom, decorated with miscellaneous letters from children around the country that Steve had decided to begin correspondence with. Across the room was a full-length mirror, and Bucky dragged Steve in front of it. At Steve’s look of confusion, Bucky forcibly turned Steve around so that his back faced the mirror, and Steve had to crane his neck around to see the image.

On Steve’s left shoulder sat the same letters since his fourteenth birthday. _James Buchannan Barnes_ in block letters reminiscent of army stamps was branded permanently, a sign of their relationship, a testament to their friendship.

However, for the first time since Steve had last looked at his shoulder, a new soul mark had appeared. On Steve’s right shoulder, in a barely legible chicken scratch, _Harriet Lily Potter_ shone in emerald ink. Next to Steve, Bucky had efficiently removed his shirt, and on his right shoulder, the same inscription marked him as well.

Steve stared for a long time in the mirror, his mind scrambled beyond belief. A new soulmate? Over seventy years after receiving his first soul mark? Where were they? Why now? What would this mean for the Avengers? Nevermind that, what does this mean for him and Bucky? In the silence of the room, to the tune of Louis Armstrong, Steve Rogers only uttered one word: “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harriet Potter was an unusual girl, for multiple reasons. First, Harriet dreaded returning home from school. Second, Harriet and her family did not get along at all. In fact, Harriet’s family openly resented and ridiculed her the moment her feet step onto the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive. Third, and perhaps the strangest, Harriet Potter was a witch.

 When Harriet was eleven, a giant named Hagrid had barged down the door of the decrepit shack her Uncle had been hiding them inside and had become her first real friend. Hagrid had introduced her to the wizarding world, where magic was an everyday aspect of life, like the oxygen her primary school teacher had informed their class was prevalent in the atmosphere. Within minutes of entering the wizarding world at the Leaky Cauldron, a hidden pub in the middle of London, Harriet could sense the magic, not only within the air, but the magic of everyone being she had come across, in each building she entered, in each item she held within her bony, slim fingers. She had become accustomed to magic in the months she had spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to its subtle tones and shifts, to its reminder that she was _not a freak_.

This, in part, was why it was so difficult for her to return to the nonmagical world. Certainly, it did not help that her Aunt, Uncle, and cousin despised her existence and actively spent everyday treating her like rubbish.

On Harriet’s fourteenth birthday, the 31st of July, she woke up in a puddle of her own blood. For normal people, an awakening such as this would evoke feelings of surprise, shock, disbelief, or some combination of all three. However, for Harriet, this occurrence is not as uncommon as others. Not only does she have her monthly visitor to deal with, but her various adventures whilst at Hogwarts always end up with some form of pain and/or blood loss for her to deal with. It's not so bad, she reasoned, because Dudley had been conditioning her on dealing with pain since they were little. So, it is with a remarkable sense of calm, that Harriet adjusts her position on the bed so that the blood did not spread, and stiffly rises from the mattress, clutching her tatty pajamas tightly so that no liquid would leak and cause another spill she would have to clean.

The first time she had received her monthly visitor was last year before Aunt Marge visited. Hermione had given her an embarrassing talk (on both sides), as well as providing a list of resources for her to study further if she wished (she didn’t) in her second year, and as such she was slightly prepared for the event. She was not at all prepared for the amount of blood, though.

This morning was no different. Crusty, dark chunks of matter littered her underwear, saturated in a dark red liquid that was beginning to congeal and slowly trickle down her backside. Her room, the smallest bedroom within Number Four had previously been used for Dudley’s toy graveyard and was, therefore, farthest away from the upstairs bathroom. Harry had to arch her feet and walk on her tiptoes to ensure no sound echoed down the hallway and woke up her Aunt. Her Uncle and cousin could sleep through a Quidditch match, but her Aunt was a light sleeper, and if she caught Harry ruining her perfectly good bed sheets Harry knew her chores would double in number.

After she finished her business in the bathroom, her gait distinctly changing to accommodate the added protection of a pad, Harriet stripped her bed, carefully carrying the bloodied sheets down to the laundry room, stepping over the creaky last step that Uncle Vernon never fixed. Luckily, her mattress was untouched from the stain, so after beginning the wash cycle Harriet flopped silently onto her bare mattress, too tired and irritated to both putting on new sheets.

This summer, she supposed, was not as bad as the others. It had to do in part with her discovery of her godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius was a wanted fugitive of the Wizarding World for the murder of twelve Muggles and the betrayal of the Potters to the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had been framed by a man named Peter Pettigrew, who was the true culprit and betrayer of the Potters but had been in hiding for years under his Animagus form of a rat. Sirius, through a series of events, eventually realized Peter Pettigrew was still alive and near his goddaughter and had escaped the wizarding prison of Azkaban in search of Peter Pettigrew.

_Harry_ knew that her godfather was innocent of all his alleged crimes, but that didn’t mean that her extended family had to know. When she entered Privet Drive that summer, she lightly added to her Uncle's tremendous list of rules and regulations, “You know, I’m going to have to send Hedwig out sometime.”

“You will not send that ruddy bird out!” Her uncle had exclaimed.

“Well, dearest Uncle, I just _have_ to inform my godfather Sirius Black that I am safe, happy, and well cared for,” Harry had replied, her emerald eyes gleaming in laughter, “Otherwise, well I don’t want to _think_ about what he’d do to the people that would restrict access to his goddaughter.”

Her aunt and uncle turned precisely the same shade as old milk, and Harry went upstairs whilst her uncle spluttered indignantly, and her aunt tried to calm him down.

Since that day, Harry had been able to send and receive letters with her best friends and Sirius, although his letters were always brought to her with the indigenous birds from the country he was hiding in. The last letter he sent had been carried by a large toucan with an even larger beak, its color brightening up the room and frightening Hedwig. Her aunt burdened her with a lesser number of chores (Mainly yardwork and cleaning around the house; cooking has now become Petunia’s domain) and Dudley’s gang of goons avoided her like the plague.

Mainly, her days consisted of waking up, avoiding her Aunt’s scrutinizing glare, completing her chore list with minimal complaining, and then exploring Privet Drive and the rest of Surrey whilst avoiding the questioning and resentful glare from the other residents of Surrey. The neighborhood around her family’s house was centered around the idea of uniformity, of showing only the very best and non-threatening image to everyone else until you convince yourself that is all that matters. This did not mesh well with the persona her family heralded around the neighborhood: that she was a vagrant, troublesome child who never obeys authority and is criminally rude and unappreciative. Lately, she had taken a liking to the local library. At Hogwarts, she and Hermione would spend hours within the cavernous library, studying and researching topics. She mainly focused on offensive spells, but Hermione read anything under the sun. The Surrey Public Library did not have any spells of magic, however, so Harry settled on classic fiction novels.

At the present, Harry was currently trying to go back to sleep but was not having any luck. There was a vague pain emanating from her stomach, and she could feel the beginnings of a migraine emerging. Harry took a deep breath, her hands on her stomach, and counted backward from ten. At number three, just as Harry was beginning to relax, a knock resonated on her window.

Her eyes flew open, and the pain in her stomach increased when Harry rapidly shot up from the bed to open the window. Hedwig flew into her small room, accompanied by four other owls, each of whom carried sizeable packages.

“Back so soon girl? You were only gone for a few days,” Harry croaked at her snowy owl. Said snowy owl fixed her amber eyes on Harry with a fond shake of her head, before twisting around and pointing her beak at the calendar hanging on the wall across from her bed.

Harry padded across the bedroom floor, her long, delicate fingers skimming the newly arrived birds with fondness. Upon reaching the calendar, she realized exactly what message Hedwig was sending her. It was her birthday today. Not that she would be celebrating it, though, with how the Dursleys tried to forget her existence. For as long as she could remember, Harriet had never truly celebrated her birthday with anything other than a countdown to either school where she could escape the house, or more recently to Hogwarts, where she could return to the wizarding world.

One of the owls, large and tawny in size, had finished recuperating from its long flight and held out the package attached to its foot. Harry slipped it off, and not a moment to soon the bird was gone, disappearing into the night’s sky.

The large, brown package was from her best friend Hermione Granger. In her last letter, she had reported in excruciating detail her plans to visit all the magical sites in France whilst her parents were undergoing some sort of science conference on the use of braces in human adults (they were dentists). Harry carefully unwrapped the gift, and nearly groaned at the sight of books before noticing the cover of the first one: _Quidditch: The Witches’ Sport_. But first, Harry opened Hermione’s letter before delving into the present.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday! I hope this package reached you on time because I had to rent an owl from the local Owlery here in Paris and they said it might be cutting it close! I can’t wait until I see you again. We’ll have to celebrate your birthday as a group; Ron’s been ever so pushing for us both to come and rescue you again. Perhaps we could negotiate with Hagrid on the Ford Anglia?_

_Anyway, I’ve gotten you a few books I picked up here in France. The first is about Quidditch; who knew it had such a strong foundation in female players? You know I can’t even look at a broom without panicking, but I am all for some girl power! The second is a book describing the importance of soulmates within the Wizarding World and the culture surrounding it. I know you’ll get your soul mark(s) today, and I know how nervous you must be right now. Truthfully, when I turned fourteen last September, I spent every day before then researching soulmates, but after I got my mark I couldn’t believe how much was not written down about soul marks in the magical world! This was the most extensive book I could find on such short notice for you._

_I’ll be back in England by the end of next week. Let’s meet up at Diagon Alley to get all our school supplies! Call me as soon as you get your marks, or I swear to God Harry I_ will _tell Sirius about second year and have you face his mothering._

_Your best friend,_

_Hermione Granger_

_PS. Don’t tell Ron about your soul marks until we’ve figured out who they are. He’s got his, and I love him as my soulmate, but he will threaten your soulmate(s) so fast you could barely say ‘Ronald Weasley’_

_PSS. Don’t tell Ron I said I love him yet. He still has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and I don't want to frighten him off.  
_

Huh. Harry had forgotten all about her soul mark(s) being revealed today. Since she was a child, Harry had dreamed of having a soulmate that would take her away from the Dursleys to a place where she was loved, where she mattered. She would spend hours in the cupboard under the stairs imagining who her soulmate might be; a Middle Eastern king coming to take her to a palace in the middle of sand dunes, a rich American businessman who could put her high up in a skyscraper like a princess in a tower, a pirating adventurer who would take her on exotic, dangerous adventures around the globe; each of these she dreamed about and more, but as time went on, she realized the ugly truth about soulmates.

Any person can have a soul mark, but that does not mean a true and everlasting soulmate bond will form. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might seem to be made perfectly for one another, their soul marks on display every chance they got (a salmon _Petunia Evans_ always peaked out from the collar of her uncle’s work suit, and a deep maroon _Vernon Dursley_ on Petunia’s ring finger) and it was the societal norm within Privet Drive. Harriet grew up with soulmates being constant, but an example of a true relationship was as rare as Harriet getting birthday presents: nonexistent. Her aunt and uncle would constantly argue in the kitchen when Dudley was safely tucked upstairs, but in the cupboard, Harriet would hear every curse word, every threatening message, and each _slam_ against the kitchen cabinets ricocheted through the walls until she covered her ears.

In the magical world, soul marks are treated reverently; created by Magic as a gift, soul marks are living, breathing testimonies of the magical connection between two or more persons. Each mark depicts the name of the soulmate, like nonmagical soul marks, but it also creates a deep, metaphysical connection between each soul. Harry saw this first hand when, in her second year, Mr. Weasley had to calm Mrs. Weasley down through their connection as she yelled at her children for sneaking off with Mr. Weasley’s flying car to rescue Harry from her imprisonment at the Dursleys.

Truthfully, Harry had very little hope about who her soulmates could be. Any person in the wizarding world would outside of her inner circle of friends and family would surely utilize her fame for their own gain. The only special thing about her in the wizarding world was the lightning bolt scar on her forehead; her skinny body was drastically undernourished from her many years at the Dursleys, her raven hair was untamable with a brush, her emerald eyes too piercing and unnerving, her body that more of a child than a woman. Turning fourteen, unfortunately, meant most of her classmates were noticing each other physically and compared to other girls in her age group, Harry was all sharp lines and flat skin. Even Hermione was beginning to form shapely curves under her strict adherence to the Hogwarts uniform, as Ron gushed to her one Hogsmeade weekend that Harry would rather forget.

Tucking away her concerns about her figure, or lack thereof, Harry turned towards the most unusual animal resting in her small bedroom: a bald eagle. Harry assumed this meant Sirius was located somewhere in America, although how he managed to convince a bald eagle to carry a package Harry will never know. Harry decided to open the letter first, as she was desperately wanted to hear about Sirius’s adventures.

_Dear Bambi_ ,

_Happy birthday! I can’t believe you turn fourteen today! Fourteen years ago, today, James asked me to be your godfather and I fainted right there in the hospital. You were the cutest little babe, Bambi. But how could I be a good father-figure for you? Now that James and Lily aren’t here, I guess it falls to me to give you the whole “birds and bees talk” …._

At this, Harry began to laugh. Her godfather was many things, but responsible and mature enough to give a teenage girl “the talk” was not one of them. Besides, Harry had already heard the entire process from Hermione. She skimmed over this rather lengthy explanation, going into explicit detail using euphemisms like “adult naptime” and having the wizard “put on a raincoat” before any “napping” begins. Harry’s stomach, already in pain from cramps, was practically screaming at her when she doubled over in laughter, her face reddening in an effort to stop, but ultimately failing in her endeavor.

_…and that is how babies are made between a witch and wizard. Merlin, I expect you to burn this letter immediately after reading it. As far as everyone else knows, Remus gave you this talk, capiche?_

_As it is your fourteenth birthday, I want to tell you something your grandparents told me, and what I wish my parents had the decency to tell me. No matter who your soulmate is, I will never ever judge you. I don’t care if you bonded with Draco bloody Malfoy or Snivellus the greasy git himself. Whoever your soulmate is, they will never change who you are and how I feel about you, Harry. I know its tough because I’m on the run from the Ministry, but if I were to be caught today, I would go back to Azkaban happily knowing how happy you are._

_Enough with the sappy stuff! Merlin, I feel like Remus. Now it's onto the fun part of being your favorite godfather! PRESENTS! I know I gave you the Firebolt, but I wanted to beat my own record. I’ve gotten you a book on how to become an Animagus! Read it very carefully, and I want you to begin the exercises in it by the end of the summer. It won’t involve using magic, so you shouldn’t be bothered by the idiots at the Ministry. Hopefully, by the time you finish the book, I’ll be a free man and able to teach you the shortcuts to becoming an Animagus. My next present isn’t really a gift at all; really, it’s a burden. I went ahead and sent an updated form of my will to Gringotts; I named you as primary recipient and heir to most of my family’s wealth. Really, you’ll be given a bunch of boring responsibilities like a seat on the Wizengamot and other stocks and properties that I have no business overseeing in the first place._

_In case something happens to me, Bambi, I want to make sure you live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your hopefully long and safe lifetime. I mean it, kid. I’m too old to have any kids, plus you’re the only kid I have room in my heart for. My last present, I hope, will make up for all this responsibility I’m dumping on you. Hermione was talking to me about the advancements the Muggle world had undergone in the last decade since I explored it. Ever since June, I’ve been immersed in the Muggle world, and by Merlin’s pants can I tell you how absolutely amazing it is! I mean, they have honest to God superheroes now! If I didn’t know any better, I would think they had used magic to create this new technology that Stark guy developed. I’d only gone into the Muggle world to spite my parents at first, but then Lily got me hooked on its music and culture and I’ve been revisiting all my favorites. I got you something called a Stark Phone, which Remus explained to me works like a Floo call but can access this place called the Internet and play songs. I (Read: Remus) downloaded all my favorite music and put in a subscription to have every song known to mankind and beyond downloaded onto it as well._

_Enjoy, Bambi! Remus says hello as well, he’s recuperating from the full moon earlier this week. Oh, Remus said my ‘number’ is in that Stark Phone, so you should be able to call me. Do it as soon as you get your soul mark, so I can threateningly call them and act as the aggressively threatening godfather. Maybe I’ll use Padfoot to give them a heart attack? Eh, who knows?_

_Your favorite godfather,_

_Padfoot_

_PS: Yes, you read that right. Dumbledore and I have cooked something up to get me free by the end of the summer. You might need to be called in, but I’m trying my hardest to act responsibly and that means not using you to gain my freedom._

Harry had a full grin stretching ear to ear by the end of the letter, and after unwrapping and setting her book on Animagus exercises aside, she grabbed the cell phone. The smooth, cool texture of the phone felt alien in her hands, which were rough from gardening the yard and the chemicals in the cleaning supplies she practically bathed in daily. The screen lit up, the blue light casting shadows across her small room and blinding her. Harry put the phone down, its charger nearby in the packaging.

The third owl was a regular barn owl, and it did not want to remain as a guest in Harry’s room. It was glaring intensely at Hedwig, who was innocently pruning her feathers whilst avoiding eye contact with its enemy. Hedwig did not appreciate it when males, no matter the species, acted as though the female populace could not perform the same actions. Harry could just imagine what type of sexist (owlist?) comment the barn owl had chirped before being viciously sky-dived by her indignant snowy owl. After taking the package from the bird, the barn owl shot straight through the window without so much as a goodbye.

The Weasley clan had sent this birthday present. The Weasleys were Harry’s favorite wizarding family, and she was excited to see what they were up to during the summer.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy fourteenth mate! Mum wanted me to tell you that she’s already getting a big party ready to celebrate your soul mark; I wouldn’t fight her on this one, mate, I haven’t seen her this determined since Ginny tried to hide away after her first year and Mum wouldn’t let that happen. She’s made you a birthday cake, it's in the package along with your birthday present. She knows the basics of how those Muggles feed you, but I haven’t filled her in fully. Just enough to tell you to prepare for feasting like a king (queen?) when you get to the Burrow._

_We got you two presents this year, but the second will have to wait until we can come and get you. Dad’s boss at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and gave them to Dad. We have more than enough for the family, and Mum and I first thought about bringing you and Hermione along because you guys are practically family anyway. We’ll just take a Portkey to the site and set up a tent for us all to stay in until the game begins. Maybe you and I can pick up some Quidditch tips for you to practice on the Gryffindor team!_

_Since you’re a part of the family, Mum and Dad decided to make it official. You know the clock in the living room that shows where we are? They added your magical signature to the wards, so a new hand was to it; when you think about it, it’s kind of creepy but just know you always have a place here in the Burrow, Harry._

_Can’t wait to see you! Owl me as soon as you can so we can arrange to get you to the World Cup! Happy birthday again!_

_Your best mate,_

_Ron_

_PS: I haven’t tried to send anything to our mutually annoying pet dog because of my father. Make sure he knows I’m thinking about him, would you?_

_PSS: Good luck with your soul mark, mate. If they try anything, owl me and I’ll be there with my brothers to beat them up. Plus, if you don’t like them you always have me and Hermione._

Harry honestly believed this was the most emotionally sensitive letter Ronald Weasley had ever written. Perhaps his soulmate bond with Hermione was rubbing off on his emotional intelligence. He had been her very best friend, even closer than Hermione if Harry was truly honest with herself. Ron didn’t treat her like she was a celebrity; he ragged on her like he did with all his guy friends, and never held back in their chess tournaments, and never pressured her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She couldn’t wait to go to the Quidditch World Cup, though she never kept up with the professional leagues. Within Hogwarts, only the inter-House competition truly mattered. But Oliver Wood, her captain, would grant her a slow, excruciating death if she went to the World Cup and did not write every single trick and tip down, so Harry decided at least if Ron were there they could split the effort.

Her stomach rumbled again, although for an entirely different reason. At the beginning of the summer, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley had been called to Smeltings Academy where the nurse laid it out in layman’s terms: if Dudley did not begin a healthy, balanced diet, even after picking up boxing, his health would rapidly deteriorate and Smeltings would have to let Dudley go. Never one to take a (professional’s) opinion, Uncle Vernon had shouted himself hoarse at the nurse before Aunt Petunia had to cut him off using their soulbond and hastily repair relations with the medical professional. The nurse had created a strict dietary schedule that Aunt Petunia decided _everyone_ in the house had to follow. Hence, although Harry was so skinny a weak breeze could knock her down, she found her meals rapidly becoming smaller in size.

The sheer smell of Molly Weasley’s cooking caused Harry’s mouth to salivate like Pavlov’s dogs. Five minutes later, a huge chunk of chocolate cake was safely ensconced in her stomach whilst the rest remained hidden under the hidden floorboard compartment Harry had been using for her school work all summer.

The last avian intruder was a Hogwarts owl, identified by the tag carrying the Hogwarts crest on its leg. It clutched a letter and package like the rest but allowed Harry to stroke its feathers in farewell before chirping to Hedwig and leaving.

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_Happy fourteenth birthday, my dear. One’s birthday is always a most special occasion, especially when one receives their soul marks. It is one of the rare similarities between both wizarding and muggle worlds that today is a rite of passage in a person’s life that both Fate and Magic deemed a relationship worthy between two or more persons. Love, as I told you in your first year, is the most powerful magic I have ever encountered. It lives within us, even in our darkest days, it shines the brightest. The soulbond is true love in its purest sense; unfiltered, raw, and life-altering. Alas, your parents are not here to detail their love to you, but I seem to have found myself with a rather intense fondness for you, Ms. Potter, and would happily share my perspective on their soul bond with you._

_I would also like to offer my sincere gratitude for helping to save both lives at the end of the school year. Men older and wiser than you would have chosen the easy path, but you decided to choose what was right, and I cannot freely say whether I would have chosen the same when I was your age._

_As it seems to be a recurring theme in your Hogwarts years, a new, exciting event will be happening at Hogwarts this year. I will not say what, as I rather enjoy surprises myself, but I will tell you that you will not be involved in the slightest. Now, onto one of the greatest parts of a birthday, the presents. It comes to me that I never reciprocated your generous gifts of socks for these past few Christmases, and it is only fair I offer something of equal or greater value. Ms. Potter, it is my honor to offer to teach you in private lessons at Hogwarts. If you accept, I would be teaching you all that I have studied in all aspects of magic, especially the ancient and disciplined magics I learned through my travels across the world. Do not mistake my light tone, Ms. Potter. It will be incredibly grueling on your magical reserves to practice these magics along with your normal school work. However, I have more than enough faith in your capabilities, and I do not doubt your abilities. Professor McGonagall has informed your other professors and has crafted a schedule for you based on your new requirements. Please send me an owl with your response immediately as I will begin crafting a specialized curriculum._

_In an effort to get you started, I have enclosed a book on the magical discipline of Occlumency. In simplified terms, Occlumency is akin to Muggle mind-reading, however, please know that the mind is not a book to be read. It is a deep consciousness where humans, both muggle and magical, reside our most primitive and most complicated processes, where the true essence of ourselves lie. Occlumency will allow you to protect your mind, to divide it up into sections and center your consciousness. You will essentially organize your mind in such a way that you will develop photographic memory, and in some cases will expand your magical reserves. This is only the beginning of what I wish to teach you, Ms. Potter. If you wish to decline my invitation, please at least learn Occlumency; it is not only a useful tool intellectually, but I find that it also allows us to analyze situations without being clouded by emotions._

_At the start of the year, after the welcoming feast, please come to my office to discuss these arrangements. Also, I have taken the liberty of finding that Grim you noticed so much last year. Hopefully, you will be able to see it again by the start of the school year. I know it has missed you desperately._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry had to read the letter three times before its contents registered in her head. Was Dumbledore close to getting Sirius free? He had mentioned it earlier in his letter, but Harry had assumed Sirius’s rather optimistic attitude clouded his judgment. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was someone Harry trusted to be clear and frank with her, if not withholding information because of her age. This reassurance allowed Harry to feel hope blossom, warm and alien, within her heart until it spread to the tips of her fingers.

Plus, Dumbledore himself was going to teach her magic next year. With how much knowledge he had gained over his lifetime, Harry knew she would probably never fully learn everything he could teach her. But she could at least try. _Hermione’s going to flip when she finds out_ , Harry thought with a grimace. Harriet wrote a quick letter of thanks and acceptance, hoping she conveyed her gratitude although she was never a good author, she gave the letter to Hedwig and watched her bird fly off into the night sky, the moon illuminating her large and beautiful wingspan.

Dumbledore’s book was rather large, its cover a sky blue with the title _The Basic Guide to Mind Protection_ in silver letters over a superimposed image of a castle. Harry could not find the author anywhere on the book’s cover and briefly flipped through the pages before giving up.

_All in all_ , Harry concluded, _this was the best birthday_ _I’d ever had._

As Privet Drive slept on, still unaware of the unusual girl in their midst, Harry Potter began to doze off. Wrapped in her tatty blankets, on her small, stained mattress, her stomach still cramping, and her body exhausted from the constant manual labor, Harry Potter entered a dream. Later, she would only be able to remember a muggle gardener named Frank, but what happened to him would be lost to her mind forever.

If someone were to be watching Harriet Potter whilst she was sleeping on the morning of her fourteenth birthday, they would have noticed the baggy, ripped pajamas adorning her body like an adult’s do a child. They would have noticed her eyelids moving rapidly, her skin burning up with a fever, her hands twitching in response to the dream. And they would have seen, as her movements shoved her sleeves up her arm, the arrival of her soul marks. Adorning each arm, right before her wrist, written lengthwise in elegant handwriting and block letters respectively, _Steve Grant Rogers_ and _James Buchannan Barnes_ were tattooed on Harriet’s arms for the rest of her life.

             


	3. Chapter 3

When Harriet finally built up the nerve to call Hermione Granger on the day of her fourteenth birthday about the discovery of her soul marks, it was early in the afternoon. Harriet had found her soul marks upon getting dressed for the day and had promptly screamed in surprise. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had descended upon her like a pack of wolves, and the flimsy excuse of her monthly visitor quieted their questioning. It seems they forgot today was her fourteenth birthday, although Harriet wasn’t mad about it. If they saw that Harriet had soul marks, they would kick her out faster than you could say “child abandonment” and Harriet was still in shock about the fact that she had two soulmates.

As Harriet pushed through the lengthy list of chores, her mind ran around in circles, asking about her soul mates. A cursive, red, white and blue _Steve Grant Rogers_ adorned her left arm, which was currently vibrating as the new soul mark settled itself not only on her skin but attuned itself to her magic. Similarly, her right arm hummed, red and silver stamped letters of _James Buchannan Barnes_ imprinted onto her pale skin.

Harry could feel her magic intermingling with that of the soul marks; it wasn’t necessarily hurting her—annoying, perhaps—but it felt as though her body was anticipating something. She was tensed, whether for fight or flight she did not know, and her eyes constantly shifted to the clock on the kitchen stove; when the bucket was filled with both water and soap, Harriet dug into her chore with gusto. Her mission was simple: get to the library, figure out how to use her new Stark Phone to call Hermione, and then research her the names of her soul mates and hope to God something comes up.

Harriet had already finished cleaning the kitchen floors and counters, finished the laundry and folded it all, and was just beginning to dust the living room when Uncle Vernon came down for breakfast.

His piggy eyes narrowed in on her frame as he came down the stairs. “Girl!” he barked, his mustache wriggling like an angry caterpillar, “Your aunt’s resting this morning, so it's up to you to make me breakfast. Whatever you do, don’t burn the blasted bacon!”

Harriet sighed “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” and set about her task, putting the feather duster in the cupboard under the sink. Whenever Aunt Petunia was resting in the morning, it meant Uncle Vernon was able to cheat the diet. As she was making her uncle a full English breakfast, the mailman had come, so Uncle Vernon ordered her to get that too. Busy with ensuring the bacon did not burn, per her uncle’s wishes, Harriet was only vaguely aware he was speaking to her whilst reading the newspaper.

“Bah! These bloody _heroes_! They come in and save the day, sure, but who picks up the tab? Us! The taxpayer! Millions of dollars wasted because these ruddy people can do their job efficiently!” Uncle Vernon ranted, banging his fist on the table. Harriet hummed an affirmative noise, her mind still singularly focused on the itch of her soul marks.

“I hope they don’t come here to the United Kingdom, let me tell you that. The Americans can deal with them and their lot. I will not stand for this kind of vigilantism here with _civilized_ folk. The police are there for a reason, they should do their job!” Uncle Vernon raved all morning about the new superheroes popping up across America and the world. Apparently, in a world filled with wizards and witches, even with a witch in the house, he did not like the supernatural powers of superheroes. Harriet tuned him out mainly, utilizing head nods and supplying him with more platters of English breakfast. Finally, when Dudley thundered down the stairs, Harriet could leave with a “Don’t cause trouble, girl! Or else you’ll be locked in your room again!” echoing down the hallway.

As it was still the middle of summer, the weather was extremely humid, pressing down upon Harry’s lungs and making her hair stick to the back of her neck. She put her hair into a tight ponytail whilst wrapping her bomber jacket around her body. Although it was too hot to wear it, Harriet knew that if she left the jacket at Number Four unsupervised, it would disappear as Aunt Petunia would surely deem it an eyesore. Paid for with the small amount of money she had leftover from her trip to Gringotts last year, Harriet adored the aged green bomber jacket. It swallowed her body whole, but the thrift shop she bought it from said it lasted almost seventy years, a vestige from celebrating soldiers at the end of the Second World War partying and leaving pieces of themselves all over London in celebration. A British Air Force tag was on one shoulder, a crown tag on the other, and Harriet was undeniably in love with it.

Harriet gripped her new Stark Phone in one hand, the charger wrapped in coils in the other pocket. She had been fiddling around with the controls of the phone all morning but was still barely capable of playing the music programmed into it. It was a side effect of being banned from the new electronics that Dudley received every birthday and Christmas, and then from entering the wizarding world which was, admittedly, behind the time's technology wise. The iconic white headphones plugged into her ears, Harry pressed the play button, and the guitar opening to “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls blocked out the noise from the outside world.

Finally, some peace and quiet. Harry hummed along to the song as she began her trek to the library, although she didn’t know the lyrics. She would have to thank Sirius for giving her a reprieve from her numerous thoughts, as the music worked well enough that she was able to slip away from her worries. The songs varied wildly in tune—from Michael Jackson to Led Zeppelin—but she didn’t mind. Anything that could help distract her from her soul marks and her dream was welcome in her book, no matter the genre. The final lyrics of Adele’s “Chasing Pavements” were lingering in Harry’s mind as she climbed the steps of the library.

Her favorite alcove in the Surrey Public Library was one the second floor right next to the classic fiction novels and before the computer area. It was hidden behind rows of novels and even had a comfy pillow chair that Harriet believed she could lie in forever. With great grace, Harriet jumped into the air and landed on the pillow, the sound being muffled through accidental magic.

Hermione picked up the phone on the first ring, “Harriet Lily Potter, it is almost one in the afternoon! You had better have a good reason for making me wait.”

Harry winced, her best friend’s voice echoing down the row of books next to her alcove. Sometimes Harry believed Hermione accidentally cast Amplifying Charm on her vocal cords because her lungs would make any mother jealous. “I know, I know, please don’t kill me. It’s just a lot to process.”  


The dial tone echoed in Harry’s ears before Hermione relented with a sigh. “It’s fine. I forgive you. You know how I am; unanswered questions make me angry.”

Harry knew quite well how Hermione grew angry when she didn’t find the answer to a question. In her first year, Hermione was so angry she couldn’t find information about Nicholas Flamel she tore the binding off a book from the Hogwarts library. Hermione had then burst into tears of rage and had to flee the library to avoid Madam Pince’s wrath.

Harry decided to draw this out, still unused to the fact that she had two soulmates. “I got my marks,” she said softly after Hermione paused in waiting.

“Well, I knew that already, almost everyone gets them on their fourteenth birth—wait did you say _marks_? As in multiple?”

Harry should have known she couldn’t slip anything by her perceptive best friend. Drat. “Well, I might have gotten two marks. Maybe. Still kind of in shock right now, really.”

Hermione mumbled in affirmation. In the wizarding world, those with two marks were so magically powerful that Magic herself had gifted them two soulmates who had the power to calm them down. They are treated with great respect, but also with great fear as their giftedness was acknowledged by Magic. After a pause, Hermione asked the question Harry had dreaded, “Harry, who are they?”

With Gryffindor courage, Harry dodged the question, “Hell if I know.”

Hermione clicked her tongue in response, “Tell me, Harry.”

Harry sighed, “One’s named Steve Grant Rogers, the other’s James Buchannan Barnes.”

There was a loud thud on the other side of the line, then a _whooshing_ sound as if the phone had fallen and been picked up again. “Of bloody course. Really, what else was I expecting? This is _Harry_ , my very best friend, the Girl Who Lived herself, the most reckless person to have ever gone to Hogwarts” Harry tried to cut into Hermione’s rant and defend herself (admittedly, everything was true, but still it was the principle of the matter) but was unable to get a foot in before it continued, “The only other pair that could have trumped that would have been her snagging both Princes, or maybe the Asgardian Princes”

Harry was extremely confused. She must be missing something here. Did Hermione know who her soulmates were? If so, what’s the big deal?

Hermione had apparently finished if the silence on the phone was any indication. “Hermione, do you know who my soulmates are?”

“Yes, Harry, I know who they are. Or at least who they _might_ be.”

Confused, Harry half-jokingly asked, “Who they might be? Why, are they famous or something?”

Hermione paused again, as though unsure of how to answer, “Those names are famous in the Muggle world, not so much in the Wizarding World.”

Harry’s mind raced as she tried to recall any mention of a Steve Rogers or James Barnes in her childhood years at school. She always tried her hardest to pay attention to the lessons, but with Dudley’s gang harassing her through spitballs and attacking her at recess, Harry admittedly retained little information on any important figures taught in school. Aunt Petunia never allowed her to watch television so her information on the news of the Muggle world centered on whatever diatribe Uncle Vernon spewed in the morning and dinner conversations.

“Ok, so I have good news and bad news about your soulmates,” began Hermione, “Which would you like first?”

The Girl-Who-Lived, for the first time in her life, was truly afraid to continue. The identities of her soulmates were about to be revealed, and she didn’t know if she wanted to find out about them. What if they were some rich millionaire, like in her dreams as a child? What if they didn’t like magic? So many different scenarios blurred through her head that Harriet became nauseous. Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach, spreading like ice through her veins. She had a choice to make, and she didn’t know what action to take.

At that moment, Harry ached desperately for her parents. She wanted her mother to hold her, to tell her _its okay we’ll be with you_ , for her father to rustle her hair and proclaim _I will never let anything happen to you, Bambi_. She wanted them to take her away, far _far_ away from the Dursleys, so far that they become distant memories. She wants, she wants, she wants, but she can never have. They were gone, murdered by Lord Voldemort, taken away from her at one year old. The closest thing she had was Sirius, who was an ocean away not even emotionally stable enough to be reliable. Harry remained quiet for a long time until Hermione had to repeat the question.

Then, Harry opened her mouth and spoke: “Good news first, please.”

“Good news is your soulmates are both alive. Steve Rogers served as Captain America until disappearing towards the end of the Second World War after defeating HYDRA. He was frozen in ice for seventy years before being discovered and thawed out. He’s the leader of the Avengers.”

Harriet did not pause a beat before continuing. The influx of information of her potential soulmates caused her heart rate to increase, pounding like a tribal drum beat in her ear. “And the bad news?”

“The bad news is James Barnes is the Winter Soldier. He served in Captain America’s unit during the War before disappearing and was presumed dead. Recently, he was discovered being under HYDRA control, and Steve Rogers led the task force designed to bring him in.” Hermione took a deep breath here, in preparation for the harder information, “But what we do know of what HYDRA made him do, well it's not good Harry. He was their conditioned assassin for almost seventy years, Harry. I doubt he even knows the extent of what happened to him.”

After a moment, Harriet Potter asked her best friend for more information about her potential soulmates. Hermione only knew as much as she did because, surprisingly, her father was a closet superhero fan and researched their backgrounds extensively. Harry guessed that was where Hermione got her inquisitiveness. Hermione promised to research as much as she could whilst in France, but Harry did not want to trouble her friend further and insisted she could do the work.

With no further recourse, Harriet turned towards the Internet. News articles depicted the re-entry of Captain America into the mainstream, his appearance in the Battle of New York shown through video camera footage. His testimony in Congress against SHIELD (whatever that was) and the downfall of HYDRA was clear-cut news footage, but his voice reverberated through her skull.

Steve Rogers must be a person with incredible bravery, she thought, as any normal person in an alien invasion would run for the hills. Steve ran _towards_ the danger, regardless that his only weapon was a seventy-year-old shield and his fists. He struck Harry as the type of person that was larger than life; too good, too pure to be truly equal to her. Harry was touched by darkness, had been tainted by it since the death of her parents. As a child, her aunt, uncle, cousin, and those at school would call her “freak” since she was born. The local priest, poisoned by her aunt’s words, called her “Devil’s child.” Even entering the wizarding world, she was never equal to anyone. “Girl-Who-Lived” became her new moniker, “Gryffindor Princess” whispered by those with class, but she could hear darker connotations of the sobriquet in shadows of the hallways, thrown in spite at her backside, thrown in hatred at her face.

James Buchannan Barnes ( _Bucky_ , she learned, was his preferred nickname. Her tongue sizzled with the want to say the syllables, her mouth outlining the words) came from the same background as Steve Rogers, as far as she could tell. Reports indicated that he disappeared on a mission, and never resurfaced. It was known in their troop, called the Howling Commandos, that they were each other’s soulmates. How hard must it have been for them to be separated for seventy years? What kind of damage did that do to a person’s psyche, to be separated from your soulmate for that long?

Harry could easily see why Bucky was manipulated (the words _tortured_ were burned into her cornea, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t touch that subject without speaking with him first) into becoming the Winter Soldier. There is very little video camera evidence of Bucky Barnes in the twenty-first century, but there was a single shot of him standing in the middle of an empty highway, the wreckage of a car burning in the distance. His stance was sharp, rigid, but his face was covered with a mask. His long, dark hair flowed in the breeze, and Harry felt the urge to run her hands through it engulf her body.

Looking at the pictures of these men, diluted through Internet pixilation and camera distortion, Harry’s stomach clenched in anticipation. A buzz began at the back of her head, spreading throughout her body. Her magic reached out to express its opinion. It was clear to Harry that her body had already begun to accept these two as her potential soulmates.

Truthfully, it was more than likely that they were the same people her marks called for. Children named after the war heroes would be possible for other, normal people. But since when has Harriet Potter ever been normal? Even entering a wizarding world, where she thought she would finally blend in, she was never going to be normal.

The question was, then, what should Harry do with her soul marks? Did they even care that they got her as a soul mate? Would they want her, even as they have had each other for decades? Would they even look for her? Why would they want her, the fourteen-year-old girl too weak to stand up to her abusive relatives, too weak to get revenge for her parent's death, too weak to deserve a happy relationship with her soulmates?

That, truthfully, was the crux of the matter. Did she deserve to have happiness with her soulmates? Did she want to endanger them, knowing how every person she ever gets close to eventually is hurt because of her? They were trained superheroes, true, but what could they really do against the kind of threat that faced Harry? In the war, Lord Voldemort was known to have gone after the soulmates of his enemies, even if the soulmates did not participate in any battle. Hundreds of soulmate bonds were broken simply because of the raving of a madman. How could she knowingly endanger Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, with the ghost of Lord Voldemort still out there, still plotting his revenge?

On her way home, Harriet’s gait was slowed. If any person from Privet Drive saw her now, they would truly believe her to be as vagrant and juvenile as her reputation. Her heart hurt with the decisions she had to make regarding her soulmates.

The pathway to the library had to pass by the town square, and a new tourist stand had just been set up. Harriet, always one for putting off returning to the Dursleys, looked at the different stands surrounding the main cart, where an employee was slurping a milkshake and playing on her phone.

One stand caught Harriet’s eye. Different cloth tags hung on the side of the kiosk, most of which involved British icons; the Eye of London, Big Ben, the Royal Seal and the like. But after having researched Steve Rogers for hours, she recognized Captain America’s seal by heart. Set on a white background, the iconic shield of red, white and blue attracted Harry’s eye. Without conscious thought, Harry grabbed the cloth, throwing a couple of bucks on the counter of the main cart.

It would make a nice addition to her bomber jacket, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, Steve found Bucky at the conservatory.

Steve was still recovering from the revelation of their new soul mark. It had been over seventy years since his fourteenth birthday and he had forgotten the new sensations it brings as the body adjusts to the new soul mark. A buzz in the back of his head had begun, attuning itself to the same buzz indicating his soul bond with Bucky. These connections hummed in perfect synchronicity with each other, complimenting the other like the records Steve’s mother used to listen to after a long day at the hospital ward. His body ached in phantom pain, sensations running across his skin before lightening up as the day wore on.

For the first time in months, Bucky had slept in Steve’s bed. Initially, Steve was too frightened to leave Bucky’s side after recovering his soulmate from HYDRA’s clutches. Bucky didn’t disagree with the sentiment, as he was overjoyed to be reunited with Steve, and so the pair had slept together. However, after their relationship was repaired—physically, at least—Bucky soon moved out of Steve’s bed. Bucky was always the type of man who desired quiet whilst asleep, but Steve often snored, an aftereffect of his body adjusting its sleeping pattern without asthma to diminish breath control. Consequentially, Bucky had not been able to fall asleep—which, considering his past actions, was probably retribution—but still, the matter stands.

The morning after their discovery, Steve woke up to an empty bed. A pale light shining through the blinds illuminated the floor, offering just enough light to move about the room without damaging any toes. His heart was still racing from his nightmare (A cold voice says, “Who the hell is Bucky?” as his soulmate attacks him on the Triskelion) Steve is jolted awake by the absence of his soulmate. To the left of him, the sheets are cold and bare, and Bucky’s scent (adjusting back to the smell of Brooklyn; hot dog stands have gotten a hefty sum ever since Bucky Barnes returned to the Big Apple).

The voice of an energetic female startles Steve. “Good morning, Captain Rogers.”

For all his time spent in the modern world, Steve still could not believe the brilliance of Tony Stark. Light-years ahead of every other modern technology company, Tony revolutionized every industry he spent a day on, and it was him who forcefully dragged the world—kicking and screaming—into becoming a technological powerhouse compared to other realms. All the promises Howard had made at that Stark Expo he and Bucky went to came true and more; everyone was interconnected through the internet, new medicines were being developed, the human genetic composition was being mapped and analyzed for millions with health problems. However, an artificial intelligence containing the wherewithal to recognize and process emotions, whilst simultaneously being interconnected with practically every known and unknown electronic server in the world, as well as babysitting their creator to prevent disasters, takes the cake in Steve’s book. It was like all the comic books and sci-fi novels Steve read as a child came true.

And so, it is with a touch of awe echoing in his voice, that Steve asks, “Good morning FRIDAY. Do you know where Bucky went?”

The disembodied voice replies, worry leaking through, “I believe Sergeant Barnes was suffering from a nightmare. Throughout the night, he was shuffling about and his internal body temperature increased rapidly. Scans indicate his REM sleep cycle was interrupted by a shock to his subconsciousness like that of a nightmare.”

Steve sighed, his hand running down his face as his shoulders sagged in weariness. Of course, Bucky’s nightmares would return after the discovery of their new soul mate. Steve spent months trying to convince Bucky that their soulmate bond was not broken, that it was still there, ready and waiting to be filled, and that Bucky did not deserve a life without his soulmate. Knowing how stubbornly guilt-ridden Bucky is (deep in his mind, the tone representing his soul bond with Bucky screamed _HYPOCRITE_ so loud Steve’s ears started to ring) Steve half-expected this to happen.

Slipping a t-shirt over his head, Steve began to dress in the half-lit room. “Do you know where he went?”

FRIDAY answered after a moment, searching her immense databases for his location. “After leaving the elevator on the ground floor, Sergeant Barnes disappeared from the camera. I’m sorry, Captain, but I do not know his location.”

Steve sighed. Bucky had spent so long under HYDRA control that it was second nature to evade detection. There was a reason the Winter Soldier was a myth for seventy years before the fall of HYDRA within SHIELD. There was no physical or technical evidence that he existed, and that was due to the training HYDRA performed on him.

The first place Steve looked was the gym floor. Tony had stocked the entire floor with state-of-the-art gym equipment and plenty of matting for sparing. A door on the opposite wall of the elevator entrance housed enough artillery for an army, varying in size and strength.

But the most important aspect of the gym, at least in Steve’s mind, was the boxing ring set up to the right of the elevator. Old-school white curtain hanging under a red, white, and blue rope ring. Beside it, a super-soldier enhanced punching bag swung, the noise of the metal chains holding it up echoing in the room.

Steve, noticing the room was bare of human life, went to his next destination: the chapel.

Tony, upon noticing the emotional damage the entire team had undergone since Siberia, and upon Pepper noticing his own, had taken a democratic poll (“No, Steve, I am not going to ever put a park near my building. Do you know how disgusting kids are? They’re little, grubby monsters who always whine and complain and never wear enough hand sanitizer.”) and the overwhelming majority wished for spiritual guidance. Steve suspected Tony was the only one who dissented from the majority opinion, given his penchant to dismiss higher authorities in favor of inventing technology, but Steve knew for a fact that Natasha asked for spiritual guidance because of the long hours she spent within the little church Tony had built on the bottom level of Avengers Tower, praying and repenting.

The sanctuary of the church was as large as Steve’s childhood school; pews imported from European cathedrals created rows upon rows of seating, decorated with a dark wood finish. In the middle of the sea, a pathway split the sanctuary into two sections, until winding up at the front of the room, where a pulpit rose above the crowd. The most astonishing and divine aspect of the room, however, was the stained window illustrations. Brilliant colors blended into a masterful design; Tony had spent a day learning the craft before creating the most breathtaking windows Steve had ever seen. At the front of the room, behind the pulpit, a tall cross bearing Jesus Christ rose up into the ceiling. Various other saints and biblical depictions accompanied the journey up the pathway. Steve had been surprised by the amount of effort Tony had put into creating a sanctuary for the morally and spiritually tired to rest.

Steve had often found Bucky within its walls. It was perhaps the only place within Avengers Tower that Bucky found some sort of peace in. Both born and raised in the church, each had taken to it in different ways. As children, it was Bucky who actively spent time within the church; Steve was too busy picking fights with bullies and drawing for the patients at his mother’s hospital ward.

Upon his return, Bucky was terrified to enter the newly created chapel, convinced some form of divine retribution would strike him down, that a gateway to hell would be carved out of the ground, leading Bucky to the Devil’s personal torture room where the Devil himself would torment him for his crimes. Steve knew nothing he could say would sway his soul mate, no matter its truth. _A person’s truth comes from what they believe to be true, not what is true_ , his mother used to say.

Steve had taken Natasha aside. She had undergone a similar conditioning in the Red Room by the KGB, to Steve’s knowledge, and thus would be better equipped at handling and confronting Bucky’s fear. She had taken the Winter Soldier to task; tormenting him with repetitious training regimes, underhanded fights, and demanding gym workouts. Anything and everything to get his mind off his past. Eventually, she wormed her way into Bucky’s heart and was able to utilize her most dangerous weapon: her mouth. If she wanted to, Natasha could talk about anything under the sun, an aspect she got from her soulmate. To utter efficiency, Natasha terrorized Bucky’s every waking moment, following him all around the Tower and speaking fluently in varying languages that Bucky knew as the Winter Soldier.

Eventually, Bucky broke. Steve was notified by FRIDAY when Bucky approached the chapel and saw firsthand the trepidation Bucky had shown clear as day on his face. His soul mate soon became infatuated with the spiritual house and was often seen within its walls.

This night, however, Steve could not see the hunched body of his soul mate anywhere within the sacred walls of the church of the Avengers.

The last and final place that Bucky had grown accustomed to within the Tower was at the very top: the conservatory. Pepper had taken it upon herself to, like Tony, seek alternative methods in healing the divide and emotional damage of the Avengers. Soon, a gleaming new plant conservatory, filled with both common and exotic vegetation, was built upon an extended portion of the top of the Tower, next to the landing dock for the Quinjet. Glassware spelled by Stephen Strange to be unbreakable, plant clippings straight from the gardens of Asgard and the other Realms, it was the most diverse and beautiful garden on planet Earth since the closing of the Eden. A stone pathway traversed between the garden plants, the viridian jungle, the grasslands, and every vegetation in between. In the center, a calm pool transfixed the eye, a gentle waterfall bubbling at the edge. At the edge of the pool, his toes dipping slightly into the water sat Bucky Barnes.

“I never took you as the gardening kind of guy Buck,” Steve quipped lightly, not wanting to frighten his soul mate. He slipped off his shoes, and carefully sat down beside Bucky, his weight shifting on the grass. Before the serum, Steve would have never reached the water’s surface. Now, practically his entire foot sank into the dark depths.

The Winter Soldier had his eyes fixed on the constellations swirling on the surface of the water, and his long dark hair was on the cusp of falling into his face. “Things have changed since we were kids in Queens, Stevie. People change.” Bucky turned his face toward Steve, his eyes bloodshot and his face weary and tired. “I’ve changed.”

“As I recall, as kids you were never stressed. You were always the one telling me to get the stick out of my ass and come with you to those parties you loved. Where’s that Bucky now?” Steve questioned.

Bucky’s voice turned sharper, the lines on his face becoming more defined. “He died, Steve. He died and he’s not coming back. You’re stuck with me now, and if you can’t—”

“What? Bucky I was just trying to ask you a question. Please don’t make it so serious. That’s my job, remember?” Steve’s brow was furrowed. Bucky had become short tempered since his return from Wakanda and his rehabilitation. Steve had noticed it, but his comments about the change were always light-hearted and taken with always the best of intentions. Bucky had never taken it so seriously. _This must be an aftereffect of our new mark_ , Steve thought.

“No, Steve. It was always me who had to be serious between the two of us. _I_ was the one who tried to stop you from fighting in those street brawls. _I_ was the one who worried every time you lied to the Army recruitment centers and tried to fight in a war _you had no business being in_. Our entire lives you’ve had your head up your ass with your star-spangled—” Bucky’s eyes had become incensed. Normally dull and glassy-eyed, Bucky was now fully animated. His blue eyes blown open, his hand running through his long dark hair, his skin illuminated by the beams of moonlight through the glass ceiling. Steve hadn’t seen this Bucky since he awoke in the twenty-first century. For a long moment, it took his breath away.

“Bucky, you’re not mad at me. You’re not mad about the decisions I made back in the forties, and you’re not mad at me tonight. This is about her, am I right?” Steve jabbed in. Bucky’s face hardened, reverting to its original stoicism. The life in his eyes traveled back into its corner, as though it was never there.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” denied Bucky. In the background, the crickets began to be joined by the haunting hooting of owls. Nearby Bucky’s feet, a fish swam up to the surface before retreating into the pool’s depths.

“Don’t do that, Buck. Every time I get you to open, you shut me out. If there is anyone you shouldn’t shut out, _it’s me_ ,” begged Steve, turning his body fully towards his soul mate. Steve held out his hands, big and strong, in his lap, palms facing upward in platitude.

Bucky stared at Steve, his eyes tracing Steve’s body from head to foot, before shifting focus back onto the pool. His hand flicked, and with the accuracy of an assassin, Steve saw an object dart out to the middle of the water before concentric circles of ripples disturbed the peace of the scene. “I just can’t effing believe it, Steve. Seventy years later, the world suddenly decides _Oh, let’s give them a new soulmate because obviously, they can handle it_ , I mean, Jesus Christ Steve what the hell are we gonna do?”

If Steve were brutally honest with himself, he would find he agreed with Bucky on this. What exactly was the Universe, God, or whoever decides these marks thinking when they matched him and Bucky with a new soul mate? What did they do to deserve another brilliant soul to mix with their muddied paths? What were they going to do? All these questions had been plaguing Steve all night, but it seems Bucky was not able to handle the mounting anxiety.

Steve knew he had to calm Bucky down before creating a plan of action. Captain America never goes into unknown territory without a plan, and if anything can be described as unknown territory, it is this situation. A super soldier and an unbeatable assassin, soul mates both, suddenly get a new soul mark after over seventy years of existence has never occurred in the history of soul marks and will likely never occur again.

Steve returned to his calm Captain America voice, the same voice that must command _Assemble_ in the face of alien invasions, who talks to grieving widows and children from the men in his unit who perished on a mission he led. “I know how you’re feeling Buck because I’m feeling the same way. But you can’t think so hard about it, or else your mind will go crazy in the worst possible way.”

Steve took a moment, watching for any shifting in expression, before continuing. “Remember when we went to that Yankees game a month before my fourteenth birthday?”

Bewildered, Bucky turned his gaze from the pool to Steve. “Of course, I remember it. That was the game Lou Gehrig hit four home runs and you, being the idiot you still are, tried to catch one of those damn balls. Damn near had to hold you down to stop you from diving out of the stands.”

Steve replied, “In my defense, _you_ were the one who wanted to go to the game in the first place. Why go to a baseball game without trying to get the home run ball? I almost caught one, too!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve hoped this distraction lasted. “You did _not_ almost catch the ball. Why do I even bother?” In another fit, Bucky tossed a pebble into the pool and the ripples rocked Steve’s toes.

Steve sighed, his voice loud in the quiet conservatory. Above, the moonlight threw light across Steve’s visage such that his face looked much older. “The point is, what did your mother say when we went back to your apartment?”

His tone wistful, Bucky said, “She said she wasn’t worried about where we were or what we were doing,” and his face turned toward Steve to look his soul mate fully in the eye, “She wasn’t worried, she said, because as long as you were with me, she knew we’d be alright.”

Steve let that statement sit, the emotional impact of its importance resonating between their bond. It was one of the first times since Bucky’s return that they were able to reminisce about their shared past, sharing their viewpoints and opinions with one another without fear of reminding themselves about their separation.

“Bucky, you don’t think this mark scares the living bejeezus out of me? When I woke up to you gone, it was because I was jumped out of a nightmare. Do you think I am in any shape to build a healthy relationship with a stranger? But as long as we’re together, we’ll be alright Buck,” soothed Steve.

“Easy for you to say, Stevie. You’re the Man with a Plan, Mr. Star Spangled Banner, for God’s sake you’re the leader of a team of aliens and princes and could probably oust the President with a single press conference. This _Harriet Lily Potter_ must be over the moon to have you as her soul mate.

“But for _me_ , Steve,” Here, Bucky took a breath, wiped a hand through his hair, and released his breath in one fell swoop, “I’m a _wreck_. I can barely function. Whatever treatment Princess Shuri did it cured me of HYDRA’s meddling, but it didn’t erase the damage altogether. I’m not fit to take care of myself, never mind thinking about a bond with another human being.”

Steve knew Bucky was struggling. He had known it from the moment he clasped Bucky’s hand after leaving the Quintet in Wakanda, and saw the demons swirling in in Bucky’s eyes, saw the stance of a war prisoner in his body, saw the slight hesitations in speech that the old Bucky would never have done, would have been ashamed of. Hearing these doubts about his worth as a soul mate, Steve’s emotions welled within him, surging outward in an automatic defense of his soul mate.

Steve stretched his arm sideways until it covered the entirety of Bucky’s shoulder, clasping the other side. Bucky had automatically tensed in anticipation before consciously relaxing his shoulders. “That’s not true, Buck. You’re getting better. You’ve started to open up to not just me, but Nat, Barton, hell even T’Challa has called asking about you. Don’t forget you’re not alone in this.

“Besides, I’m not exactly the perfect human being you make me out to be Bucky. I’ve done things I’m not proud of and will most likely continue to make mistakes in the future. You were an amazing soul mate when we first started, and you’re still a wonderful soul mate,” Steve paused for a moment, conscious of his next words, afraid of scaring Bucky like a hunter scares a baby deer. Bucky’s eyes were wide open, his head turned entirely in Steve’s direction.

Bucky interjected, “You haven’t seen what I have, Steve. You haven’t done what I’ve _done_. For God’s sake, I assassinated the President of the United States. I _murdered_ Howard, a man I knew, a man I trusted with my life. I’ve murdered thousands, tortured tens of thousands, and there is still so much I don’t even _remember_.”

“No, I guess I haven’t,” conceded Steve, determined to prove his point nevertheless, “but I will never _ever_ abandon you, Bucky. You didn’t deserve what HYDRA did to you, and if Harriet Lily Potter doesn’t want to get to know you, the _real_ you, then I don’t think I’d want her as my soul mate anyway.”

Bucky retreated inward after this statement. Steve could see his body deplete in energy, tired out after expending it on worries and endless guilt. Bucky looked sad, as lost and forlorn as a man lost in a desert with no oasis in sight.

The sun began to rise over the horizon. Both the tall, elegant skyscrapers so new to Steve and Bucky, as well as the century-old brick houses and run-down, boarded up mills of their childhood were bathed in the pale morning light. It was the time of morning where the sun was not quite high enough for the brilliant colors of orange and red to fully transcend the sky, but enough that the dark black and purple shadows began to creep back into the shade. The constellations, so magnificent at night, began to fade into the sky.

The sounds of New Yorkers awakening began to resonate from down below; honks of annoyed traffic goers, the broadcasting of news stations in Times Square, the ringing sound of the subway trains arriving in their stations, each one familiar to both Captain America and the Winter Soldier after months of their stay in Avengers Tower. Across the sky, near Central Park, a dark cloud rose from the ground to the sky before Steve discerned it was comprised of hundreds of sleek gray pigeons, each of whom were scouting for worms or the kindness of the elderly and their seemly infinite amount of stale bread.

After a considerable amount of time, Steve rose from the pool. His feet had pruned from their time in the water, and it was the first time in a while his body had performed a normal reaction to an outside condition, so Steve paused for a moment before wiping his feet in the grass nearby.

“Where are you going to go?” questioned Bucky.

“I have a date with Sam every morning, and I can’t disappoint him.” Steve grinned.

Bucky snorted, “Yeah, Stevie, I’m sure he’d be really disappointed to not have you rubbing your superior athletic abilities in his face. He’d probably call and be all mama bear like he is, _What’s wrong Steve? Do you need anything Steve? Did you fight anyone? Is there any way I can help?_ Blah blah blah.”

Steve chortled at this, the laugh rising from his gut before fully evolving and resonating through the conservatory. “Hmm,” considered Steve, “I wonder where this overprotective idea came from, Buck? Certainly, no one else in my past would even have been _close_ to the amount of protectiveness Sam has shown?”

At this, Bucky took a swipe at Steve’s lengthy legs, barely missing as Steve nimbly dodges the hit. “Go then, you rascal, before I do something worse. I’ll join you in a few minutes, so don’t do anything stupid when I’m not there.”

Steve couldn’t resist; the opportunity was just too perfect. “How can I when you’re keeping all the stupid up here with you?”

Reminded of a different time, a different setting, where a much smaller Steve Rogers said those exact lines to him before his deployment, Bucky’s mouth lifted in an imitation of a smile. It was something he had learned from Natasha: _pretend you’re okay until eventually before you even know it, you’ll be better than the day before_.

Across the sky, the sun began to be visible above the horizon, bathing the Winter Soldier in swaths of radiant yellow and orange. Both of his soul marks burned for a minute, before quieting, and Bucky Barnes followed Steve Rogers down the elevator.

 

* * *

 

 

Generally, Tony tried to create an invention every day.

At he was four years old, curious and naïve, he would run through his dad’s workstation whilst he was out at the company and would peruse his father’s abandoned experiments. Initially, with whatever utensil he had nearby (red and gold crayons soon became his favorite; Jarvis had to wash more than enough scarlet out of his shirt to attest to this fact) Tony would correct the mathematic schematics of the invention until is true potential was realized. Tony would look at the invention, skim over the dense and irrelevant summaries and insert himself right into the crux of the issue, solving it often in a matter of minutes. Instead of watching cartoons with his mother, Tony would sneak into his father’s lab and spend days deep within it, reading and memorizing all the scientific literature within, and when that wasn’t enough reading the new scientific discoveries coming out in the world, criticizing each one until he created a solution for the problem.

At the age of six, Tony Stark saw his father smile for the very first time. Always taciturn and work-obsessed, Tony had never seen a tender moment between his father and mother. They had always been cordial with one another; their soulmate bond existed to a point, but it was separated by a ginormous chasm of emotional difficulties stemming from Howard’s time in the war, specifically his time spent with Captain America. Howard was obsessed with finding his dearest friend, so obsessed that he had missed Tony’s birth because he had forbidden entrance to his workstation whilst he was inside. This obsession grew like a monster within Howard, until Maria did not recognize her husband and soul mate. Thus, they had been sleeping in separate rooms for some time, although Howard spent most of his nights in the workstation anyway.

Howard’s first smile to his son was borne out of an intense amount of labor. Tony had finally decided on his first build; a sacred right within the Stark family, it was treated as a semi-sacred ritual within both the family and company, setting the stage for the future industries the company would invest in. His choice was a simple engine, modified for easier use and an almost negligent probability of failure. He had thoroughly prepared for his build, double and triple checking every aspect of the engine before being assured of its success.

Tony had beaten his father’s time for his first build by almost three hours. With the precision of a machine, and the signature Stark confidence ingrained in all Stark men, at six years old Tony creamed both his father and every industry leader. Upon the reveal of his time, Stark stocks soared as the future of the company looked brighter than ever.

After that day, Tony would build anything that caught his eye. Stacks upon stacks of ideas littered his room, which was barely decorated to leave space for even more stacks. Tony had saved all his ideas until after his majority, upon which he would be able to patent his inventions. Most of his ideas centered around making life easier for human beings—self-driving cars, miniature cameras to capture crime and lower the criminal justice backlog, sleeker and faster technology such as smartphones and laptops—all of which were invented by a growing Tony Stark.

These schematics were razed upon the death of his parents. Obadiah Stane steered the company even farther into the weapons area of the economy, disintegrating research and development departments of the company until all that was left was missiles, assault rifles, and the deadliest weapons known to mankind. Stuffed into a darkened storage room, covered in dust, thousands upon thousands of life-altering inventions were forgotten in favor of weaponry.

After Afghanistan, Tony had opened the storage room doors for the first time in years. Reinvigorated and brimming with the energy of the Iron Man suit, Tony had thrown himself into his previous inventions with the fervor of a dying man. Even after the inclusion of the Avengers in the tower and into his family, Tony created new ideas and brought them to life every day.

So, it was with no surprise that on the morning after Steve and Bucky found their new soul mark, Tony had locked himself in his workshop for almost two days straight. Tony had gone off on a tangent of new blueprints for the next mark of the Iron Man suit, as well as improving the weapons of each of the Avengers. After lengthy negotiations with the newly outed, technologically advanced nation of Wakanda, Tony had been gifted with a ginormous shipment of vibranium, carefully transferred over by the tall, scary, heavily-armed women militia T’Challa always surrounds himself with. He was currently trying to catch up with the discoveries the Wakandans had centuries to figure out and was now incorporating some of his ideas into the weapons of the Avengers.

Tony’s workshop, as always, looked like a small disaster ran through it. Papers littered the ground, as three workbenches were entirely covered in mechanical parts and tools. Hawkeye’s bow, long and dark in color, laid down on one table, its large quiver beside it. Tony’s first robot, Dum-E, had a fire extinguisher in it’s one large, overreaching claw. It’s companion, the robot U, was holding a large, rotating fan. Both were in use, as a large explosion had just rattled the workshop.

Tony had been bent over a large chunk of vibranium, which was floating in the middle of three large machines that were levitating the rock. It had been gently glowing a brilliant blue, similar to Tony’s arc reactor, so Tony had a welding mask in front of his face. He had reached over with a blowtorch, attempting to liquidize the solid, and upon contact with the blue flame, an explosion had occurred.

Dum-E and U immediately set to work, covering Tony in fire-extinguishing foam and then swirling that foam throughout the air. Tony lifted the mask off his face, blowing some of the foam away from his mouth before ordering, “FRIDAY please tell me you put that video someplace only I could find?”

“Already on it, boss,” replied FRIDAY.

“Modify available tests for vibranium. Cross out those involving flames,” instructed Tony.

“Yes boss,” agreed FRIDAY, her voice decidedly chipper. Any action that protected the life of Tony Stark was following her main directive: to protect the life of one Anthony Edward Stark, and following it always made her happier.

Tony grabbed the nearest coffee cup, stuffed in between blueprints for the next mark of the Iron Man suit and those for a better tactical armor for Black Widow. He sniffed it once, checking for any motor oil that might have wound up inside, before downing it in one gulp.

“Sir, that appears to be your tenth cup of caffeinated drink in eight hours. Might I suggest a decrease in your intake, or perhaps the inclusion of sleep into your schedule?” inquired FRIDAY, her voice hopeful.

“FRIDAY, I had more drinks preparing for my third thesis at MIT when I was fourteen. When I made JARVIS, I was running on twenty cups of coffee and sheer willpower, and his creation was most likely a divine act of extreme luck. This didn’t even make the top twenty of my worst work binges,” explained Tony, wiping a soot-covered hand over his face, leaving a smudge right underneath his dark bags.

An amused voice broke the loud rock music that was a staple in the workshop, “I’d listen to him, FRIDAY, or you’ll wind up a complete and utter worried mess like me. It’s better to just roll with it and make fun of him later.”

Tony barely raised his head, which had begun to look closer at the rock of vibranium. “Remind me why I gave you a pass again?”

Colonel James Rhodes stumbled closer to Tony’s bench, maneuvering around the frantic movements of Dum-E and U. “Because if Pepper found you in a compromising position she’d take a picture and blackmail you later, and the others would probably do the same.”

Tony blinked once before speaking, “Right. FRIDAY, Add Bruce Banner to the list of people authorized to come into my lab as well. Besides going all Green Giant, Brucie would never blackmail me if he found me in here.”

Rhodey laid his crutches beside Tony’s bench, before lowering himself down slowly. Tony knew better than to stare and cause his best friend discomfort, and so he put all his effort into analyzing the sample. However, Rhodey still noticed Tony had shifted closer towards his seat to provide stability on the bench and prevent an accident.

“Do you know how long you’ve been down here? Steve’s already gotten back from his mission in Iraq and he’s been asking about you,” asked Rhodey.

“Long enough that you’ve decided to convince me to come up for air,” answered Tony, “I’m fine. If Capsicle wants to find me, tell him I’ll be waiting down here with a rose between my mouth and Barry White playing in the background.”

Rhodey snorted, “I always knew you had the hots for the Captain. That whole war between you to was just a lover’s spat. Pepper and I had a bet.”

“He’s the perfect dreamboat, plus he would never even dream of cheating on me. Hell, I bet each time that man orgasms every American citizen suddenly feels the urge to say the Pledge of Allegiance. You’ve had any urges lately, Rhodey?” Tony spoke coolly, already up and ready with his quick-fire wit. It’s easier to distract those wanting to give him advice than following it. The only loophole with this plan was Pepper, whose wit was equal to Tony’s and whose soul bond forced Tony to listen to her advice.

“Now that you mention it, I had the strangest urge to salute when I was in the shower.” quipped Rhodey.  

Tony knew better than to engage in a battle of tongues with Rhodey, especially after making the man worry about his safety by locking himself in his workshop. Lord knew Rhodey was a champion worry-wart. He stared deeper into the rock, his brain finally stimulated after so long without inspiration. An idea began to form deep within his mind, beginning as a slight tingle in the back of his head before growing and spreading throughout his body.

If this glow was _like_ the glow of the arc reactor, could the molecular compounds be similar? If they _were_ similar, what did this mean about the new element his father had discovered when playing with the Tesseract all those years ago? Was this the missing connection between science and magic? Vibranium, whilst full of fantastic capabilities, was still defined as an element. It was visible to the human eye, reacted with other compounds, and was well known within the laws of science. Similarly, Tony’s new element was mapped by his father decades before it was able to be made. Since Tony’s recover from the palladium poisoning, he had experimented with the new element, testing and redefining its limits before sending its information off to the scientific world for more testing and eventually naming. If these elements were similar in molecular structure, would this be the link between the magical realm that was slowly coming to Earth and known scientific limits?

“FRIDAY, could you put up the basic molecular model for vibranium, and put it alongside the model of the new element from the Stark Expo board from a few years ago,” ordered Tony, his voice wavering slightly with curiosity.

“Sure boss. Anything specific you’re looking for?” asked FRIDAY.

Rhodey knew to remain silent when Tony was beginning to enter his groove, so he shuffled in his seat to find a comfortable position and waited.

“No, just put the overview in front, please,” said Tony.

Before FRIDAY was able to put up the models, two noises wailed in the room, once again overriding the rock music.

“What is it, FRIDAY? No, wait, let me guess,” paused Tony, “Is it a booty call from Steve?”

“Close,” answered FRIDAY. “It’s a text message between you and the other Avengers. The one labeled ‘Work Fun’ and not ‘Friday Night Fun.’”

“What did Capsicle want?” asked Tony.

“He only said one word, boss. _Assemble_.” FRIDAY spoke, her tone serious as the point of the text was relayed.

Tony looked up at that, staring across to Rhodey, who spoke, “Hell if I know what he wants. Maybe its something to do with his mission in Iraq?”

Tony stood up from his desk with a heavy sigh, unwilling to give up on this new breakthrough. “This had better be good.”

With that, Iron Man and War Machine strolled over to the elevator (Tony deliberately slowed his gait to match Rhodey’s, distracting his best friend with jibes at Steve and the other Avengers), ready for their next mission.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Tony paused before exiting the elevator on the Avengers main floor in the Tower.

“Are you okay, Boss? It’s not too late for me to pull an excuse from your file.” implored FRIDAY, her tone wired to worry about her creator.

Rhodey had already left, knowing that Tony would not want him to see his hesitation. Tony loved the man more for it.

The reason for Tony’s hesitation lay beyond those walls. No matter the heaping mounds of cash Tony threw at the therapeutic solutions, no matter the restitution and recognition of mistakes between the two, Tony Stark was completely and utterly terrified of James Buchannan Barnes.

Every moment spent in his presence elicited fear and panic within the billionaire (former) playboy philanthropist. The piercing screams from his terrified mother overwhelmed his senses, often rendering Tony incapable of thought, and the bewildered look of his father as he looked at the man he thought was his friend _murder_ his wife and himself often plagued his nightmares. Tony’s father, although a hard man, never showed a scared look in his presence. Tony had often been critiqued for showing too much emotion in the presence of others, and the amount of fear and protection his father had shown over his mother in his last final moments scared Tony shitless.

Since Team Captain America rejoined the new Avengers Tony had strung together, and they had all reunited into one happy family, Tony had avoided Bucky like the plague. Even though Tony consciously knew that Bucky had _nothing_ to do with willingly murdering his parents, that didn’t mean that Tony would accept him with open arms. Conversation between the two was always mediated by another Avenger present in the room, and never strayed from the basic information necessary for a mission. During missions, the team would put as much distance between the two as humanly possible without endangering the lives of innocent civilians.

The most awful aspect of the situation, in Tony’s mind, was how Bucky tried to make up for it.

In the middle of the night, when Tony would wake up screaming alongside his mother in a montage of Tony’s Worst Moments™, he would wind up in the communal kitchen that was shared between the Avengers (only because he and Pepper seem to inhale the coffee stashed in their private kitchen such that nothing remained at the end of each day). Stocked full with anything and everything the Avengers could ever wish for, including a large cache of Tony’s favorite take-out menus, Tony often stayed the rest of the morning within the kitchen, sobering up from his nightmares with a hot cup of black coffee. And always, every single time Tony had a nightmare, a plate of Bucky Barnes’ sinfully good chocolate chip cookies would be placed carefully in the middle of the kitchen table, a note with big block letters labeled _TONY STARK_ on top of the plastic wrap.

Taking a deep breath, Tony applied his most convincing smile (the same one he used every time he had an interview with Tom Brokaw or Diane Sawyer following his rehab stints) and strut into the room like the multiple runway models he used to date.

The room was overflowing with superheroes and soulmates. The man of the hour, Steve Rogers was dressed in his workout clothes, sweat covering his body and causing his hair to stick to his forehead. His brilliant blue eyes were highlighted with excitement, but his stance was solid, arms crossed and brow furrowed. In his shadow, both Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson stood stoically, equally as sweaty as Steve, although Sam was decidedly more exhausted. An aftereffect of working out with two genetically modified superheroes, Tony supposed.

The trio were muttering amongst themselves, and nearby the deadliest soulmates in the entire world were arguing over household chores. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were the exact opposites in every sense of the word. Barton had been sent to kill Natasha, but after the discovery of her true name, he brought her home and began to work on her like a home project. Eventually, Natasha gave in to his machinations and accepted that Clint loved her and would never let her go or abuse her like the Red Room. However, as a consequence, the pair were sickeningly affectionate with one another. The only fighting that occurs between the two happens as a result of household chores.

Tony heard their conversation as he walked into the room.

“Damn it, Nat. I was taking care of Nathaniel last night! You know, _our son_? Sorry if I left a mess in the changing room, but what am I supposed to do about it? Babies naturally cause messes!” said an exasperated Clint, his hair ruffled and eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Natasha was as impeccably dressed as always, her allure emanating a sense of deadly sexiness that had previously lured Tony when she was still Natalie Rushman. In a clipped tone, she iterated “I’ve changed _the traitor_ many times, Clint, and never once have I left as big a mess as you did last night.”

Clint’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, “Nat, our son is not a traitor—”

“He is! He is a traitor! The entire goddamn pregnancy I dealt with terrible hormones and the weirdest cravings in the world because I wanted a girl! The best doctor in the world even specified that _it was a girl_. Imagine how surprised I was on the birthing bed when a boy popped out!” interjected Nat.

“---in any case, I’m sorry for leaving the mess. After the meeting, I’ll go to our floor and clean it up myself. Deal?”

Natasha pouted, her perfect lip jutting out in an imitation of childishness, as though she wasn’t able to hurt a fly, never mind every single person in that room with ease. Finally, she nodded, and the two lovebirds were reunited in a fantastic embrace. To Tony, that display of emotion was sickening.

Both groups were at the head of the living room, standing near the humongous television and blue-ray set up that the team congregated around for movie nights. Scattered throughout the room were leather couches and loveseats, each with a slight wear and tear after the amount of partying the group performed. On the other side of the room was the bar where Tony entertained Loki during the Battle of New York, stocked to the brim with the most exquisite alcohol a man could procure.

Sitting alone on a large leather sofa, Bruce Banner was diligently reading _Ancient Indian Relaxation Techniques_ , his brow furrowed and his glasses falling precariously down his nose. His outfit consisted of dress pants and a purple button-down shirt, the arms rolled up to his elbows. Tony veered towards the good doctor, intent on pushing his buttons and generally being as annoying as possible.

Thor stood by the window, his eyes on the clouds blanketing the city. In his hand, three Poptarts stood at attention, steadily being massacred by Thor’s grubby hands. His outfit was casual, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that emphasized his muscular body.

Rhodey sat at the bar, already nursing a drink. His crutches leaned against the countertop, and his fists clutched a glass filled with amber liquid.

Tony was just about to quip to Bruce when Steve called the meeting to order.

Naturally, Steve had to begin the conversation with a bombshell.

“I called the team together, not because of a new mission, but Bucky and I have news to share.”

Confused looks were passed between the remaining team members bar Bucky. Finally, Clint spoke up, “What’s up, man? You seem off today, so it must be something big.”  


The gears turning in his head, Tony interjected, “I got it! You’re gonna start a family! Well, good for you, I always knew you two would make great parents. I’ll be the drunk uncle that pays for he or she to go to college!”

Satisfied Tony smoked out the truth with his genius intellectual capabilities, it was a shock when Bucky spoke, “No, Tony. We’re not going to start a family anytime soon. It’s something that could affect the team.”

Silence reigned across the room. The tension was so thick, Tony swore you could cut a knife through it. In the background, Thor was munching loudly on Poptarts, his Asgardian manners clearly not picking up on the importance of the situation. That, or he was just really hungry, Tony reckoned.

Steve took a deep breath, looked back at Bucky briefly, before shifting his gaze to the team. “Recently, Bucky and I returned from a mission in Iraq to drive out ISIS fragments. Upon our return to the Tower, we both noticed an addition to our bodies. We have another soul mark.”

Shocked faces littered the room. Clint’s jaw dropped, Bruce’s eyes widened to impossible levels, and Rhodey dropped his glass cleanly onto the countertop. For the first time since Siberia, Tony could not think of a funny retort. He knew without a doubt that they were telling the truth. If it were about Bucky, Steve would lie in a heartbeat. With any other subject, Steve could no sooner lie then he could revert back to his scrawny younger self.

Of course, it was Thor who broke the tension. “Congratulations, my dear Captain! This new soul mate must indeed be something incredible to have gained two of the greatest warriors Midgard has to offer as mates!” bellowed the Asgardian Prince, coming forward to clasp the shoulders of Steve and Bucky. Both men buckled forward under the initial hit.

Tony was the one to bring up the obvious, “So, who are they?”

Steve shared another look with Bucky before taking off his sweaty workout shirt and turning around. There, in a brilliant emerald ink, the name _Harriet Lily Potter_ rested on Steve’s other shoulder, parallel to the _James Buchannan Barnes_ etching.

Immediately, Tony got to work. Once given a name, he would be able to find the girl within a few hours at most. “FRIDAY, do your thing. If you need help breaking into the mainframe of government servers, just ask.”

FRIDAY readily answered, “Already on it, boss. Shall I put the results up on a hologram?”

Agreeing, Tony spread his hands open and a multitude of colors emerged from his palms, coalescing until materializing in Internet pages hanging in the middle of the room. Flinging his hand back, Tony catapulted the results onto an open wall so that the entire group could view the search.

Steve and Bucky stood in front of the wall, their eyes analyzing each piece of information brought up on the board.

“Harriet’s not a common name anymore. It dropped in popularity dramatically at the start of the 20th century. That lowers the possibilities considerably, Capsicle,” said Tony.

Natasha spoke for the first time, “Don’t forget to put in the age restriction.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and looking over his shoulder he spoke, “Age restriction?”

“If you just got the marks now, it must mean your new soul mate had her fourteenth birthday the day you returned from your mission. Check for girls born on July 31st fourteen years ago, Tony,” informed Natasha.

It seems that information did not occur to Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Tony, with all his tact, willfully ignored that fact, knowing if he had brought it up it might have angered the super-powered duo as an act of annoyance. Tony was glad it wasn’t him who brought up the fact that their new soul mate was still just a child.

Clint swore when Natasha stated the obvious fact, muttering under his breath, “Damn, that’s effed up. Your new soul mate’s barely fourteen? That’s almost as old as Lila. Effing shiz this sucks.”

“Careful, Clint. Your daddy is showing. Soon you’ll be saying H-E-double hockey stick.” quipped Tony.

“He already does” Natasha inputted.

Bruce’s voice finally returned when he added, “So what have we found, FRIDAY?”

“I have run the name _Harriet Lily Potter_ through the United States government census. So far, only a thousand names have matched. However, no birthdays have aligned with the date of July 31 st in the year 2000. Shall I expand the search to available census’s in English speaking countries?” asked FRIDAY.

“Yes, please FRIDAY,” said Tony.

The browser on the wall suddenly shifted, changing the screen to various government databases and dozens of birth certificates were projected onto the wall before rapidly disintegrating and being replaced. After a few minutes, with each member of the Avengers fixated on the wall, FRIDAY projected one final birth certificate.

“I believe I’ve found her, boss. A _Harriet Lily Potter_ was born on the 31 st of July in the year 2000 in London, England to a James Potter and Lily Potter.” Informed Friday, projecting an image of the girl onto the wall and filling the space.

 

Steve was anxious the entire time of his workout. Revealing the truth to his teammates was fundamental in unifying the team the first time around, and it was what broke the team in Germany. He knew that he could not hide his and Bucky’s new soul mark. Not only would it be visible during team practices, but the potential of a new soul mate that might be a target for HYDRA would certainly distract both Steve and Bucky to such an extent that it might endanger the lives of any one of his teammates.

Not to mention, Steve did not want to block his team out of his life. After the fighting in Germany and Siberia, he knew that the tensions between the group, although repaired, were not fully healed. Withholding a new soul mate might be enough to disintegrate those bonds, and Steve knew without a doubt in his body that he would not be able to do that to his team.

Staring at a picture of his new soul mate, Steve was glad he told the team about her. It helped finding her a million times easier than researching with Bucky alone would have been.

The first picture projected onto the wall was a photo of her mother holding the newborn Harriet in her arms, her husband smiling with his arms wrapped around them both. Taken in the hospital bed after giving birth, the mother was clearly utterly exhausted, her hair askew and her eyes bloodshot, tear tracks visible even in the grainy picture, but her brilliant smile showed the happiness of a young mother meeting her child for the first time, already loving them with all of her heart. The father, James, had the same smile plastered on his face, running from ear to ear, and his eyes were fixated on his new daughter with love and devotion.

Steve poured over the picture, paying attention to every single little detail of the birth of their new soul mate, knowing that Bucky was doing the same. It seemed that Harriet’s parents truly loved each other, with Harriet born as a monument to that love. Steve’s heart ached as a new hope blossomed in his chest. He wished that Harriet and he could have that same unconditional, irrevocable love that he saw in her parent’s eyes.

A new picture filled the screen. It was a young Harriet, presumably from what accounts as elementary school in England. FRIDAY’s voice filled the room as she spoke, “According to their death certificates, Lily and James Potter died a year after giving birth to Harriet in a house explosion on Halloween night 2001. Police reports indicate neighbors witnessed a man dressed in a dark cloak approach the house and heard screams within it before an explosion rocked the neighborhood. When officials reached the home, Harriet had been taken to her only living relatives; her mother’s sister, Petunia, and her husband and son Vernon and Dudley.”

Steve was heartbroken that his soul mate suffered such a devastating loss at the beginning of her life; he also felt guilty. It seemed like some kind of cosmic joke that every wonderful aspect of his life, like Bucky, the Avengers, even his brief flings with Peggy and Sharon were marred with tragedy. His soul mate must have been affected somehow by his bad decisions. It was karma for foiling with the secret of mankind, for developing superpowers willingly in order to enhance his abilities. An angry God out there was exacting his revenge on the people Steve loved the most, even those who hadn’t entered his life yet.

He hoped she at least found a better life with her new family.

Sadly, he was soon disappointed.

However, as he was contemplating the information FRIDAY had spoken about, Natasha was bringing up a valid question.

“Did they catch the person who killed her parents, FRIDAY?” a smooth, clear-headed Natasha questioned.

“The police records indicate a negative on that front, Agent Romanoff. There are currently no leads, and the case is, as you say it, cold.”

That was a surprise to Steve. Two young, beautiful parents brutally murdered in a relatively quiet village in England should have been a huge case for their police station. Neighbors would have pressed them to find and catch the killer, rightfully fearing for their own lives as well. From what Steve could see in the police report on the wall, there were no obvious problems with James and Lily’s life, no clear motivations for their killing. Random attacks are always more frightening to the general public than planned, motivated killings. Something wasn’t right here; Steve could feel it deep within his bones.

“I have more recent pictures for Ms. Potter. However, they stop at they appear to stop at the age of ten.” Explained FRIDAY as she newer pictures of Steve’s and Bucky’s new soul mate flitted up on the screen, inundating the wall.

It seemed to Steve that every aspect of Harriet Potter drew him in. No matter the graduating school photos, brilliant green eyes captured Steve’s heart and attention. Dark, raven curls seemed to grow increasingly longer as the years went by, choppy and twisted as though a permanent air current billowed her hair around her head. Pale skin, unblemished and luminescent in the picture, barely shown through ratty, large t-shirts that seemed to cover her entire frame. As the pictures reached a higher age, the child Harriet grew skinnier, her limbs as thin as bird’s bone. A ticking sensation began to knock at the back of Steve’s head. Something about this was not right. Something about it was _familiar_.

With a shock, Steve realized _why_ this scrawny, beautiful girl-child was familiar. She was _him_ , seventy years ago when most of his time was spent in back-alley fights with guys too big for his muscles and too small for his heart. Even in the grainy, near decade-old school pictures, the girl had that same determined glint within her emerald gaze, that same hunched figure with clenched fists in a medium between defense and attack, the same scrawny, pale frame.

Steve’s musings were cut short by Bruce. “Did her family pull her out for homeschooling, FRIDAY?”

“According to the listed families for homeschooling children, the Dursleys did not register for such a method. Harriet Potter, for all intents and purposes, disappeared from the school record right before her eleventh birthday.”

Why did she vanish from the public school record? If British schools were anything like their American counterparts then there must be strict regulations in regards to the whereabouts of all minors. The British government wouldn’t just forget to check up on a little girl barely out of grade school. Again, Steve’s gut felt that something _was not right_.

“So we have a girl barely in her teens with no public records after her eleventh birthday. That doesn’t sound fishy at all, guys.” deadpanned Sam, rolling his eyes at the sheer undeniability that _of course_ Steve’s and Bucky’s new soul mate would not have a normal life.

“Where did her relatives live, FRIDAY?” asked Tony.

“Number Four Privet Drive in the town of Surrey, England. Would you like to set the Quinjet up for takeoff, boss?” answered the AI, already allocating reservations and appointments on Tony’s schedule to make room for this newfound mission.

Steve immediately deferred, “Tony, you don’t have to do that. Bucky and I can go by ourselves to find her—”

“Listen, Cap, I don’t want to hear any more of that ‘I couldn’t possibly make you do that’ crap. I’d have hoped by now you would have realized that no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do. Finding your new soul mate is something that I want to do. I’m assuming everyone else on the team does as well because this is the juiciest piece of news between the two of you since the two of you discovered the wonders of Snapchat. Now, get your star-spangled head out of your ass and take the goddamn help.” said Tony, his voice solid and gaze headstrong. It was pointless to argue with him, Steve knew when he was this adamant. Vaguely, Steve remembered the same tone used when discussing the Accords. That didn’t bode well for this mission.

Tony turned around without waiting for an answer. “So who’s coming with to find this new soul mate for these old coots?”

Every single hand rose into the air, Clint waving his arms emphatically up and down in his excitement. Natasha’s gaze was curious and a little wary. Steve knew that Harriet would have to prove herself to Natasha to gain her trust. The others were varying expressions, with Thor as excited as Clint and Bruce wanting to study the scientific implications of a soul mark arriving seventy years after the original bond had been established.

Tony clapped his hand excitedly, “Excellent! FRIDAY ready the Quinjet and notify the British government. I don’t want another international incident on our hands just because we happened to show up in a country uninvited.”

“To be fair, boss, you did call the Prime Minister of Italy a _stronzo_ —” said FRIDAY

“How was I supposed to know what it meant? Mama used to use it around the house when talking about dear old Dad, so I naturally assumed it was a term of endearment.” cried Tony.

Steve could hear Tony complaining as he walked to the elevator. The rest of the team followed afterward, although a second group had to be assembled simply due to the massive size of Thor’s physique clogging up all the space in the tiny room.

It was as Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Bruce were about to enter the elevator that he stopped. Turning around, Steve noticed that Bucky was still fixated on the pictures of Harriet projected on the wall. It appeared to Steve that Bucky hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation after it drifted away from their soulmate.

Steve saw that Bucky drew in the sight of their girl-child soul mate greedily, identifying each feature of her face down to the number of freckles dotting her nose to the delicate eyelashes curling upwards and skimming across the apples of her cheeks. Steve lifted his hand, indicating for the others to head up to the Quinjet. Natasha got the message first, her brow shifted forward in concern before pressing the button to close the elevator.

Steve made called out Bucky’s name three times before attempting to break him from his trance. Anybody else but Bucky reaching forward to grip his shoulder would have made Bucky break their harm and lift them into the air. Steve always knew there was a chance Bucky wouldn’t recognize him, but he took that chance gladly if it meant he could touch his best friend and show genuine human affection to the man who had been starved from it for decades.

Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulder tightly, his t-shirt crumpling under the force of Steve’s grip. “Bucky, its time to go.”

Bucky didn’t acknowledge Steve for a moment, his grey eyes fixating on Harriet for one final, burning gaze, before shifting to Steve’s baby blues. In them, a fierce determination echoed, and the first real intense emotion Steve had seen since Bucky’s return startled him for a moment that he almost missed Bucky’s last statement before heading toward the elevator.

“Yeah, Stevie, let’s go find our girl.”

 

 


End file.
